Bar
by Lomax343
Summary: Bar has a way with people. Quite a short way, usually. Then one day Red Sonja arrives in town; and after a misunderstanding in the tavern, is soon face to face and sword to sword with Bar. They're well-matched - in more ways than one; but one wants more than the other is prepared to give. Who has met their match? And what will happen if Sonja is made to play Bar's Game?
1. Prologue - Bar's Game

**BAR **

**Prologue**

It wasn't until Nyla suddenly sank to her thighs in thick, glutinous mud that she began to think she might yet live to see another sunrise.

It was called Bar's game. Bar was the most powerful and most feared individual in the tract of wilderness known simply as The Empty Lands. Woe betide anyone who angered Bar; or dared to argue with him; or even crossed his path when he was feeling irritable or bored. There was no law but Bar's law. There was no justice at all.

Nyla never knew what she'd done to displease Bar. He never explained himself, and it didn't matter anyway. She was going to have to play the game. Rumour had it that one player had managed to survive. Nyla had no illusions about becoming the second.

She was taken to a certain hill at daybreak, where Bar gave the speech he'd given to many victims before her.

"Behold my land; my domain. Over this land I will hunt you; I and my friends here." Two huge, slavering hounds strained at the leashes he held in his massive fist. "It is now dawn. You may start to run as soon as you wish. I shall remain here until noon, and then begin the pursuit. You may run; you may hide; you may even try to fight back, using this," he handed her a dagger, "though I do not recommend it. There is only one rule: if you still live two sunsets from now then you have won your freedom, and your life."

Nyla ran. She ran as fast as she could for as long as she could. She ran until her lungs were burning and she was bathed in sweat. When she could run no more she collapsed panting on the ground. She looked up at the sun; still a couple of hours until noon. She couldn't keep running for two days; so what was she to do?

Think, she told herself, that's what. She was young, she was nimble; but she couldn't out-run hounds. She was armed; but she couldn't fight Bar. She could hide – but her scent would give her away. As well as being ferocious, Bar's hounds were reputed to be infallible trackers; able to follow the spoor of their prey over any sort of terrain.

Except water. Wait – hadn't she heard that somewhere? That if you crossed a stream the hounds would lose the scent. She'd no idea if it was really true, but it seemed her best hope. Unfortunately, there was no water to be seen. Bar's domain was arid and brown, and there'd been no rain for weeks. Perhaps she should give up now.

No. She'd use the knife on herself if need be (one of the more gruesome things whispered about Bar's game was that the hounds ate the losers alive), but she'd keep trying until the end. There was a gnarled tree close by. It looked dead, but it was climbable. She scrambled up into its branches and scanned the country in all directions. Not a drop of water to be seen anywhere. However…over to the east the vegetation seemed greener than elsewhere. Greenness meant moisture. It was a long way off; but she still had nearly two days.

She jumped down from the ground and started to walk. She didn't run; she couldn't run forever. Especially not since Bar hadn't seen fit to give her any food or water. She had to conserve her energy. Nevertheless, she walked briskly.

After a few miles she looked up at the sun again. Noon, near enough; the pursuit had begun. She walked on, trying not to think about the beasts snuffling at her trail. All afternoon she walked, without hearing the slightest sound of pursuit. That didn't surprise her entirely – another rumour was that Bar never caught anyone on the first day. It spoiled the fun. Instead, he usually let his victims keep running until as close as possible to the end of the second day – to let them build up a measure of hope before snuffing it out.

It grew dark. She wanted to keep walking all night, but knew that she didn't have the strength. She had to sleep - had to take the risk. She had the feeling that Bar was watching her every move, every gesture, every facial expression. Nevertheless, she crawled into a thicket and threw herself down on the ground. As she did so she found that, by some miracle, there was a puddle of water by her head. She buried her face in it, drinking like an animal. It was stagnant and tasted foul; but she still lapped up every drop she could, even trying to suck the moisture out of a mouthful of mud. Then, exhausted, she slept.

She awoke suddenly, with a feeling of panic. It was still dark, though a pinkish tinge coloured one horizon. Sunrise. The sun rose in the east, and that was the way she needed to go. She got to her feet and started walking.

Her pace was much slower than it had been the previous day. Her stamina was almost done; it was only her determination that kept her moving. It was that or oblivion. The green was nearer now. Nearer but not yet near enough. She walked on. Noon came and went. Then she heard a sound that turned her blood to ice.

It was the baying of a hound. Distant, but portentous. She looked at the sun. Six, maybe seven hours to go. Too long. Would she ever see it rise again?

She pressed on. There was no doubt that there was more moisture in the ground here. The trees were taller, the bushes more verdant; but there was still no sign of a river or a stream. Not even a puddle.

She veered to her left; partly because it seemed to her that this course would take her more directly away from the Bar's pursuit, partly because the ground sloped gently downhill in that direction, and offered easier going. She walked – or staggered – on for another hour or so; and then another. Then she heard the hounds again. Closer this time; much closer.

She thought of climbing a tree. Dogs couldn't climb – but Bar could, and she couldn't fight him in the branches any more than she could on the ground. She pressed on, willing herself to ignore the pain in her feet. Another hour; another. It was true – Bar was toying with her. All he had to do was to let his beasts off their leash and the game would be over in a trice. But no – he'd wait until the last moment. She prayed he'd wait too long. Where was the sun? Low in the western sky, but not low enough.

Then at last she saw what she'd been looking for. A scant couple of miles ahead the trees seemed to form two parallel lines across her path. It had to be a river – it had to be. She forced her aching limbs onwards; but before she got there she heard the howls of pursuit twice more – the second time so close she almost despaired.

Then she found that what she'd been making for wasn't a river after all. It had _been_ a river; now it was just a river bed – a few yards of glistening mud with a couple of rivulets of water trickling through it. She collapsed on the bank, and drew the dagger, staring it its blade. Wasn't it better this way? She held the point to her throat and gripped the handle firmly – but she couldn't do it. Deep within her a tiny flame of defiance still burned. Keep trying to the end, she told herself – the _very_ end.

She got up and started to pick her way across the mud. It was sticky and slippery. Then suddenly it simply melted away beneath her and she sank above her knees. She felt a surge of panic – quicksand! She back-tracked furiously, fighting the grip of the mud. Mercifully, she'd not strayed too far from more solid ground, and she clawed at it desperately. She felt as though she was crawling over a deceitful layer that at any time could dissolve into liquid and swallow her into the depths, but it bore her weight; and inch by inch she pulled herself free of the mire. For a long while she lay like a dead thing. Tears of despair ran down her cheeks. She was trapped – there was death ahead as well as behind. She couldn't decide which was the more horrible.

Then a thought struck her. At its narrowest point, the river-bed was only a dozen or so yards across. On the opposite bank was a tree with a creeper dangling from one of its branches. If she could reach that creeper before she drowned, she'd be able to haul herself out of the mud. Moreover, she could then cut it with the dagger, so that Bar wouldn't able to follow her. And then she would be free!

It wasn't much of a chance, but it was better than nothing. She stepped out into the mire. It was like wading through molasses. Before she was half-way across, she was up to her hips and her progress became slower and slower. She struggled on, but the closer she got to the creeper the deeper she sank. Waist, stomach and chest all vanished into the ooze and still she hadn't made it. She stretched out an arm. Just three more inches; but her shoulders were now gone and she could move no more. She was doomed.

Then she remembered the dagger. Holding it by the blade, she tried to hook the guard round the creeper and pull it towards her. Three times she failed; but on the fourth attempt she succeeded and grasped hold of the creeper. Thank the Gods - now all she had to do was haul herself up to the branch.

That proved harder than she'd expected, for the grip of the mud was strong. Nevertheless she pulled herself up little by little, until she was free of the mud, and almost within touching distance of the branch.

"Greetings, Nyla."

She looked round. Bar was standing on the far bank, his hounds snarling at her. He was still on the other side of the river, though; and being bigger and heavier than her he'd surely not be able to cross safely. Nyla felt an exultant thrill. She'd made it! Then she saw that he was holding something.

It was a crossbow. Not a full-sized hunting one that could bring down a deer at a hundred paces, but a small, one-handed version that fired a bolt a mere eight inches long. Even that that was bad enough, though. Nyla resumed her frantic climb.

"I'm impressed, I must say," Bar said in a conversational tone. "I have hunted few as resourceful as you." Then he raised the crossbow and let fly.

The bolt struck Nyla's right forearm, embedding itself deeply. She hissed with pain, but it wasn't a fatal shot. She reached for the branch.

The second bolt pierced her right wrist and stayed there, shaft sticking out one side, bloody point the other. There was now no strength in her right arm. She willed her fingers to grip, but they would not do so. She tried to climb the creeper using her legs and her left arm only; but she could not. She span involuntarily around, to find herself staring directly at Bar. He was smiling at her as he slowly re-cocked his crossbow and inserted another bolt.

Nyla knew she was finished. "Make an end of it," she said. Bar's smile widened, and he glanced at the surface of the mud beneath her. With a spasm of horror, Nyla realised what he intended to do.

"No," she gasped, "not the quicksand. Kill me quickly – please!"

Bar raised the crossbow and held it for a long time. Nyla couldn't work out where he was aiming. She stayed as still as possible, waiting for the end.

Bar put the third bolt into Nyla's left arm, closely followed by the fourth. She tried desperately to hold on, but she couldn't, falling back into the mire with a shriek. She sank rapidly and was soon up to her neck. She couldn't grasp anything with her hands. She clamped the creeper under her armpit; sank her teeth into it – anything to stop herself from going under. She knew that her life was over, but she couldn't face the horror of slowly drowning in the cloying mud. She watched as Bar loaded a fifth bolt and aimed carefully. Nyla prayed he'd put it through her eye – about the only part of her still visible. She didn't flinch. She wondered what Gods she'd meet.

Then Bar looked up at the sky. "Sunset," he announced, lowering his crossbow. "You win. You're free to go." And with that he turned on his heel and walked away, taking his dogs with him.


	2. One - Sonja learns a new dance

**BAR **

**Chapter One**

**Two Years Later**

One, two, three, and kick…and one, two, three, and stamp…and turn around ... and back again ... Red Sonja was learning a new dance.

Red Sonja, she-devil of the Hyrkanian steppes, was a woman of simple tastes. Good ale, food that was wholesome and plentiful, a dry place to sleep, and an open road in the morning; that was what she wanted in life. That and company, from time to time. Company on _her_ terms, that is. Though she'd spent her life as a solitary and friendless wanderer, she was no hermit. She did not shun human contact; just so long as it didn't try to come too close. She was drawn to taverns where the fire was warm, and the chatter was loud, and the songs louder still. And dancing? Why not? Not the sort of dancing where your partner held you close, and was generally a precursor to something sordid in the hay-loft. Never that. A vigorous communal dance, on the other hand; one with much whooping and stamping and clapping; one that took all your energies to perform and drove the dark thoughts from you mind for a space – that was a different matter.

The hali-huk was such a dance. It was danced by the men in the Goblin's Head – a tavern in a nameless hamlet in the middle of a tract of country so desolate that even those who lived there called it The Empty Lands.

The hali-huk was an ancient dance. So ancient, she was assured, that no-one for fifty generations had even known what the name signified, though the steps were remembered. It was also, everyone maintained, unique in one special way.

"What's that?" she'd asked, her curiosity aroused.

"Well you see," said a scrawny, toothless man somewhere past seventy, who was allowed the status of spokesman for the populace, "it cannot be danced sober." There was a general laugh at this – it was obviously a well-worn joke that was served up to all passing strangers.

Red Sonja smiled too. "In that case," she said, "Landlord! More ale! Make it strong!"

A stoneware tankard was placed before her. She blew into the froth then raised it on high. "To all the Gods!" Then she put her lips to it and drank deep. Long and deep. A dozen pairs of eyes stared at the tankard as she tipped it higher and higher, until she suddenly tilted her head right back and up-ended it completely. There was a cheer as she thumped it back down onto the table. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and let out a most un-ladylike belch.

"Right. Show me this dance."

Honoured and ancient the hali-huk might've been, but it was also simple and wildly energetic. Just the sort of dance she liked. The whole room joined in, with gusto. Red Sonja was no fool; she was perfectly well aware that the locals' enjoyment of their dance was heightened by the fact that they were being joined by a tall and shapely flame-haired woman, who didn't seem to know what an inhibition was. But that didn't bother her. It never had. Just so long as no-one tried to go too far. Unfortunately, someone did.

Red Sonja didn't know his name; though if it _was_ true that the hali-huk was a drunkards' dance, he'd clearly prepared for it with great dedication.

"C'mon, Red-hair," he slurred, "gimme a kiss." Sonja put one gloved hand on his face and pushed. Staggering backwards, the man tripped over a stool and sprawled inelegantly on the floor, to general mirth.

The man didn't see the humour in the situation. He hauled himself to his feet and advanced on Sonja. "You know what you need, you inhospitable bitch?"

"What?"

"A lesson in manners."

"Really? Go on, then."

"What?"

"Teach me manners."

There was a burst of laughter. The man looked around, confused. Some small part of his brain seemed to be telling him he was getting into a situation that didn't promise a happy ending. On the other hand, he was being made to look a fool before his peers.

"Why you -" He balled a fist and swung it at Sonja's jaw.

It never landed. Before it was half-way through its arc, Red Sonja stepped forwards, put up one hand to block her would-be tutor's blow; then jerked her head. There was an audible crack, and the man went down again, blood gushing from his shattered nose.

More laughter – which was suddenly stilled as the man rose again and drew a knife. The drink he had taken and the damage to his face made his next words unintelligible, though their meaning was clear enough. The room fell silent, waiting. The door opened, making several people jump, but the new arrival obviously took in the scene at a glance and stood as still as everyone else.

Red Sonja didn't move. She looked at her challenger with her head slightly on one side and a look of pitying scorn on her face. The man gestured extravagantly with his blade. Sonja didn't move a muscle. The man lunged.

A blink of an eye later he was face-down on a table, with his arm twisted behind his back, and his knife being prised from his grasp. There were murmurs of appreciation around the room. Then Sonja flipped the man onto his back, and raised the knife on high. She paused for a heart-beat; gave the man a mirthless smile, and struck.

Absolute silence fell. Sonja turned and faced the room. She had been in situations like this before. She knew there'd be at least one man present who was toying with the idea of exacting revenge for his fallen neighbour. She was confident that she'd be able to meet the challenge if it came, though she preferred to face it down if she could.

She looked into each pair of eyes. None held her gaze. So far so good; except that everyone was looking sidelong at the new arrival – the man who'd opened the door a few moments previously.

Sonja looked at him as well. A well-made, wide-shouldered man, with eyes like flints that stared back at her. He stepped into the room, two huge dogs at his heels. From the way that others made room for him, he was clearly a man of some influence. Sonja raised her eyebrows – a question rather than a challenge.

He acknowledged her with a smirk. "Bravo," he said.


	3. Two - Sonja's night ends with a bang

**BAR **

**Chapter Two**

Slowly, with a confident swagger, the man crossed the room towards Sonja. His appearance was unkempt, but that did not detract from the power of his physique or the magnetism of his bearing. Every eye in the room watched him; every tongue was silent. Sonja waited. The man halted in front of her. His dogs growled, but he snapped his fingers and they lay obediently on the floor. There was an expectant pause.

The blow was an expert one. It was delivered backhand, all the way from the waist, and with the speed of a striking cobra. It never landed. Reacting with equal speed, Red Sonja caught the man by the wrist and held him. The two antagonists tested each other's strength and stared into each other's eyes, silently measuring.

The man spoke first. "Why do you wear gloves?"

"So that I don't have to soil myself by actually touching creatures like you."

The man gave a grunt that might even have been of approval. He relaxed his arm, and Sonja relinquished her hold with the air of someone letting fall a fruit which they'd just discovered to be maggot-infested.

"Do you have a name?" the man asked.

"I am called Red Sonja."

"Red, eh? I'm Bar. If you think I need a colour to go with that name – well, my hair's yellow and my heart's black. Choose as you will." Sonja made no reply.

"I see you've met Ganak," Bar remarked.

"Was that his name? We were never formally introduced."

"Well you've missed your chance. How did he offend you?"

"He was attempting to teach me manners."

"It seems you were a poor pupil."

"Or he a poor teacher."

Bar gave a short laugh. "I think I might like you, Red Sonja; which is bad news for both of us. Guhla! More ale for this woman!"

"No, thank-you."

"_What_ did you say?"

"I said no."

"You refuse me?"

"I prefer to buy my own drink. When I let men do so, they think it entitles them to a reward."

"And who's to deny it? Well, Red Sonja, Ganak was right about one thing. You _do_ need a lesson."

"In manners?"

"Not exactly. You have killed."

"I have killed a man who came at me with a knife. I had the right to defend myself. If that is considered wrong here then your laws are strange. Are they strange?"

"No. But they _are_ simple."

"In what way?"

"This: that the law is my word, and that my word is the law. If you take the law into your hands you take that which is mine. Here, it is I who decides who lives and who dies."

"And what of those who are forced to defend themselves before they have had time to ask your permission?"

"They must defend themselves anew."

There was a pause.

"I see." Sonja looked into Bar's eyes. He met her gaze levelly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sonja asked him, quietly.

When Bar spoke next his voice was soft, almost regretful. "Yes. You know I must."

Sonja nodded; she did indeed know. It was a situation she'd met before. Bar was clearly the head man – the authority – in these parts. Whether this came about through accident of birth or force of personality mattered little, though she suspected the latter. Authority, however, came with a price; which was the need to reassert one's superiority _whenever_ called upon to do so. She was standing on Bar's turf, defying him. If he let her challenge go unanswered then he would lose face before his subjects, and that would be the end for him; or at least the beginning of the end. Yes, she understood.

"In here or outside?" Bar asked her.

"I am indifferent."

"As am I – but you are the accused; the choice is yours."

Sonja said nothing, but reached instead to her waist and slowly drew her slim sword.

"_That's_ your blade?" Bar asked her.

"It has served me well before now."

"As you wish. Give us space!" This last remark was directed to the room as a whole. In a trice, tables and chairs were cleared away against the walls. No-one left, however. Sonja glanced round. It was easy to read from the expressions of the spectators that they'd seen similar scenes before. Bar made a gesture, and his dogs trotted behind the counter.

A last look round. There was a puddle of Ganak's blood on the floor, which would probably be slippery. She noted its position. Then she studied Bar. The jerkin he wore was sleeveless; his arms were muscular and gleamed in the lamplight. His expression was dark and grim. Sonja moved to the centre of the room.

Bar positioned himself three paces in front of her, and drew his own sword. It was longer and heavier than Sonja's; though she noted one or two nicks in its edge.

"My, my," she said. "Well, you know what they say about men who feel the need to carry big swords."

Bar gave a bellow of rage and swung. Sonja parried and circled a little to her right. Bar swung a second time, and again Sonja parried. Well, he was certainly strong. Time to test his skill. She skipped one way and back the other; then flicked her blade at Bar's throat. He swatted it aside. Impressive. Big, strong, and proficient; but perhaps just a little slow. That was the problem with too much muscle – it acted as a drag. Now; what about the bit between his ears?

Sonja wrinkled her nose. "By all the Gods, when did you last take a bath?"

"I intend to bathe in your blood very soon."

"Well that would certainly improve the smell of you – but have you ever heard of something called soap?"

Bar grinned. "It won't work."

"Soap? No; probably too late."

"You know what I mean."

Sonja gave Bar a slight nod. He was telling her he was too smart to be goaded into anything rash. A worthy opponent. Maybe; just maybe….

Bar stepped up, and blades clashed again; three, four, five times in rapid succession. Sparks flew. His footwork was good, too; though somewhat heavy. He tended to stamp into a blow, which meant that it was signalled an instant before he delivered it. Nothing wrong with his defence though; and it was obvious that he was just as aware of the pool of blood as she. He was sweating – did he lack stamina?

Strange, too, that the watchers were so silent. One might've expected the odd cheer or cry of encouragement. No, perhaps not. It was clear that Bar was feared but not loved. His minions wanted _her_ to win; though whilst the outcome of the duel was uncertain they didn't dare say so.

They drew apart. Then Bar's eyes flickered, as if he had suddenly noticed something behind her. An old trick, and not one she was about to fall for.

Except that he suddenly shouted "No!" Or at least, his mouth formed the word but she heard no sound. Then there was a sharp pain on the back of her head.


	4. Three - Sonja learns a new word

**BAR **

**Chapter Three**

She was lying on a bed. It was dark; though a window let in a shaft of moonlight. She had neither sword nor dagger. She sat up. There was a clink. Her ankle was fastened to the bed by a short length of chain. The knife she kept in her boot was gone, too. She room was small and bare. The bed was pushed up against one wall. She got up. The chain wasn't long enough for her to reach window or door. She pulled. The bed was fixed to the floor, somehow. Her head hurt. She lay down again.

She was lying on a bed. It was light. Her head still hurt, but it was bearable. She had other needs. There was a bucket. Then she sat down on the bed and waited.

There were footsteps. The door opened, and Bar entered the room. She expected to see an expression of triumph on his face. Instead, he was almost apologetic.

"A thousand pardons, Red Sonja. That was no doing of mine. I trust there is no permanent damage?"

"Not yet; but come closer and there will be."

Bar shrugged, but stayed where he was. "You are angered. I am not surprised; you have cause."

"Get on with it."

"With what?"

"Whatever it is that you intend."

"I have not yet decided what I intend."

"Well hurry up and do so; patience was never my strong point."

"Never fret. But before I decide, I must talk to you. May I approach?"

"Do you usually ask permission?"

"No; there you touch a nerve. I cannot remember the last time I asked permission of anyone for anything. Nevertheless, I do so now. May I approach?"

"You pique my curiosity. Yes, you may approach."

"Thank-you; and yes, that is also a word I have not uttered for many a year." Bar walked over to the bed and sat down on a low stool.

"I said downstairs that I might like you, Red Sonja. I say now that I _do_ like you. What reckon you to that?"

"That you have a strange way of treating those you like."

"As I said, that was no doing of mine; and there will be retribution, I promise you. Does your head bother you?"

"It will mend."

"I am glad. Truly. And now I have a proposal for you."

"My answer is No."

"You have not yet heard me."

"Even so."

"Yes, I greatly like you, Red Sonja. So let me ask you something. Do you know the meaning of Parole?"

"The word is strange to me."

"I see. It means a pledge; from you to me. You give me your oath not to offer violence against me or any under my protection; nor to depart from here without my leave. In return I shall unfasten that chain. What say you?"

"You will accept my oath?"

"I believe it will bind you more securely than iron ever can. Am I wrong?"

Sonja stared levelly at Bar for a long moment. "No, you are not wrong. But am I to be left kicking my heels in this worm-eaten hamlet, for months - years maybe, until you make up your mind about my fate?"

"No; I pledge in return that I will pronounce my doom upon you before the second sunset from this moment."

"Doom?"

"Judgment, then."

"Judgment? For what? No, do not answer that; it matters little. Well, I am in no haste; I can tarry here two days. But if your judgment _should_ turn out to be doom -"

"What then?"

"Then you shall return me to this room, and chain my ankle just as it is now. And then we shall see what we shall see."

"Agreed."

"Then you have my – what was the word – parole."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"By what Gods?"

"By none! I swear by Red Sonja!"

Bar threw back his head and laughed. "Such spirit! I never saw the like but once – nay, you surpass even she. Here, let me see that foot."

Bar produced a key and unlocked the chain round Sonja's ankle. She stood up and stretched.

"I would walk in the daylight. Is that permitted?"

"Surely. You may wander where you will within, shall we say a mile in any direction?"

"My weapons?"

"You will not need them. If you hunger or thirst, ask Guhla, the innkeeper. He will provide. There will be no need to pay."

Instinctively, Sonja's hand went to the small pouch that hung at her waist. Bar noticed the gesture and smiled.

"No, you have not been robbed. I do not commit small acts of villainy; only great ones."

"May I go now?"

"The door is open. But be back an hour before sunset."

"A curfew?"

"By no means. But I hope you will do me the honour of supping with me. I have ordered Guhla to surpass himself."

"I have no taste for fancy food."

"I will tell Guhla. But come, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I pique your curiosity."

This time Sonja laughed. Then she gave Bar an ironic bow, turned, and left the room.


	5. Four - Sonja refuses a proposal

**BAR **

**Chapter Four**

Red Sonja returned to the inn an hour before sunset. Bar was at the door to greet her, and he bowed as she entered. He'd taken some effort over his appearance; his beard and hair were combed, and he was wearing a shirt of clean linen. He was unarmed, and his dogs were nowhere to be seen.

"Welcome, lady. Enter and be seated." Sonja did so. The table was heaped with food, the smells of which reminded her that she was ravenous. Other than Bar and the innkeeper, the room was deserted.

"Do you prefer wine or ale?" Bar asked.

"Ale."

Bar glanced in the direction of Guhla, who hastened to place a brimming flagon in front of Sonja.

"Now get out," Bar told him, and he scurried off.

Bar sat down opposite Sonja and raised his own tankard. "Your health."

"Thank-you."

"Please eat."

"With my fingers?"

"Ah, forgive me." Bar reached inside his shirt and produced a knife. It was the one that Sonja had carried in her boot. She accepted it from him with a raising of the eyebrows which showed that she fully appreciated the irony of the gesture.

Sonja ate. The food was wholesome and plentiful; and Bar was a surprisingly gracious and attentive host. He asked her about her travels and listened politely to her responses. Sonja began to relax, and even enjoy herself.

"And where are you from, originally?" Bar asked eventually.

"Hyrkania."

"My knowledge of geography is sadly lacking, I'm afraid. Where is Hyrkania?"

Sonja sighed. "It's been so long I've almost forgotten. East and a little north of here, I think. Two months' journey; perhaps three."

"How long since you left?"

"I've stopped counting the years. I was a girl."

"And you've been wandering since then?"

"My home is the road."

"Now that I don't understand. That life is not for me. This land - well, it's not much; you could walk across it in two days. But it's _mine_. I've never set foot beyond its borders. Nor do I want to."

"It must help that your word is law round here."

"Undoubtedly. But do not tell me you couldn't rule; couldn't command respect."

"Maybe. I've never stayed anywhere long enough to find out."

"Really? So what are you looking for? What do you really _want?_"

Sonja stared into the depths of her ale. "I don't know."

"That's sad. I don't see how anyone can be happy unless they know what they want."

"Happy? Once I thought I knew what that word meant. But now? There've been times when I _thought_ I was happy; but perhaps they were just moments when I forgot that I wasn't." There was a long pause; then Sonja seemed to mentally shake herself.

"Anyway," she said, "I suppose you've got everything you want."

"Everything. Except one thing."

"And what might that be?"

"I want a woman."

Slowly, Sonja put down her knife, and stared across the table at Bar. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"I might."

"Might? That's rather indecisive of you. You strike me as a man who knows what he wants and simply takes it. Or takes her."

"Oh, I've taken women all right. More than I can count. But that has ceased to satisfy. I want a woman who is strong and unafraid; a woman who is proud to stand by my side. Can you think of such a one?"

Sonja ignored the question. "Tell me," she said, "Have you given a thought for them?"

"Who?"

"The women you've taken. By force, I presume?"

"Indeed. What of it?"

"Have you ever given a thought to what they felt about being taken?"

"No; should I have?"

Sonja's stare grew cold. "I could tell you a story about a woman who was taken against her will."

Bar returned her stare. "A woman? Or a girl?"

There was a long, tense silence. "So you're not all bicep and sinew?"

"Not quite. Red Sonja; I want you to be my woman."

"No."

"No? But I'm offering you what you most want."

"A man?"

"A home. Don't deny it, Red Sonja. Look into your heart. It's what you've been looking for all these years, even if you haven't realised it."

"Strange that you can read my heart better than me."

"I'm not a fool, Sonja. People think I am – an unfeeling, brutal fool. Well, the second of those three words is right; I told you my heart was black. But the other two words don't fit me at all. Look into my eyes and say I'm wrong about you."

"I'm looking; and I can see you're no fool. What colour your heart is, I don't care; mine isn't so pure. But the answer is still no. I couldn't accept, anyway, even if I wanted to. I'm not saying I do; but even so."

"Couldn't? Why not?"

"Because I'm under a curse."

"I don't believe in curses."

"Believe in this one. I was, as you surmise, taken as a girl. Several times. Taken and left for dead. And whilst I lay dying, a Goddess appeared to me. She offered me life. She offered me a strong right arm and skill with a blade. She offered me courage, hardiness, and the blood of my abusers. In return, I was to take an oath. And, as you noted earlier, my oaths are strong."

"And what was that oath?"

"That I would never give myself to any man, unless he had first defeated me in a fair fight."

"I see. And you've kept your oath?"

"Every day."

"I don't doubt you. Nor do I doubt that many have tried to claim the prize."

"Years are not the only thing I've stopped counting."

"Tell me; did this Goddess also gift you your -" Bar gestured vaguely at Sonja's chest.

"Armour?"

"Not the word I'd've chosen. But yes; does your armour mark you out as an adherent of hers?"

"No. It was given to me by another. Not as a gift, you may be sure. I spilled his blood."

"It sounds an interesting tale."

"It is; but I've never met anyone I wanted to tell it to."

Bar didn't press the point. Instead he asked, "Do you pray to your Goddess?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why should I? I told you, she cursed me."

"Is the gift of life a curse?"

"Sometimes. I've never seen the Goddess since. Perhaps she has forgotten me. Perhaps she was only ever in my mind. Or perhaps she is guiding my footsteps yet. Perhaps she intended that I should wear this armour; perhaps she put into my mind the thought that I should keep it, never mind the way it was forced upon me. Perhaps she has some plan for me that I cannot see."

"Then perhaps she guided you here? More ale?"

"No, thank-you. But let me ask you something."

"By all means."

"You said you admired my spirit. You said also that there was another whose spirit you admired. What of her?"

Bar leant back in his chair. "Ahhh; so you're not just red hair and – scraps of steel."

"I'm not a fool, any more than you."

"Bravo. You were made for me. And I for you."

"I think not; but continue."

"Her name was Nyla. She was not afraid of me."

"Is that it?"

"No. She was young, she was beautiful, she was brave. And I wanted her."

"And you took her."

"No, I did not. Of all the people in the country where my writ runs, she was the one – the _only_ one – who was not afraid of me. She was the only one who did not cringe as I passed; who did not send me gifts to appease my future wrath. That angered me. I wanted her, yet I could not take her; I wanted her to give herself to me of her own free will. I wanted her to be my woman; but I had not the wit to ask. Now it is too late."

"So what happened to her?"

"I killed her. I made her play the game, and I killed her. My heart was never blacker than on that day."

"The game?"

"Perhaps I'll make you play it tomorrow. It has been a long time since it has given me any pleasure. Maybe that is Nyla's revenge."

"Perhaps the Goddess sent me here because of Nyla."

"Perhaps. But it is getting late. I have things I must attend to, so I bid you good-night. You may use the room you awoke in. I've had Guhla put clean blankets on the bed."

"No chains?"

"Certainly not. There is even a bolt on the inside of the door, if you so choose."

"Until the morning then." Sonja wiped her knife and slid it into her boot. Bar watched her do so, but said nothing. He got to his feet as she rose from the table, and watched in silence as she climbed the stairs. There came the sound of a door opening and closing; then of a bolt being slotted home.

Bar smiled to himself, then left the inn. Two canine shadows attached themselves to him as he strode into the night.


	6. Five - Sonja learns Bar's intentions

**BAR **

**Chapter Five**

It was light. She was in a bed. The bed was comfortable; very much so. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt so easy; it was difficult.

There was the knock at the door, and she snapped into full wakefulness.

"Who is it?"

"Guhla, the innkeeper. I have your breakfast."

"One moment." Sonja crossed the room and drew back the bolt, though she did not open the door.

"Wait," she commanded; then got back into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

"You may come in, now."

Guhla entered, bearing a tray. If he deduced from the boots and armour scattered on the floor that Sonja was naked under the blankets, he made no sign of it. Instead, he placed the tray on a table by the bed. Sonja looked at it and saw new bread, honey, cold chicken, and some sort of herbal drink.

"Is there anything else you require?" Guhla asked her.

"A bath."

"It will be ready when you have broken your fast. Will you require attendance?"

"I think I can wash myself, thank-you."

Guhla bowed and withdrew; and Sonja directed her attention to the tray. The drink was warm, and tasted strongly of mint. It was refreshing.

An hour later, Sonja was standing by an ancient oak growing by itself to the south of the village. She heard footsteps approaching, but didn't bother to turn round.

"This is about a mile, wouldn't you say?" she asked.

"As near as makes no matter," Bar replied. Sonja turned to face him. He was dressed as he had been on their first meeting.

"And have you come to pronounce my doom?"

"Not yet. I have given the matter much thought, however; and have decided to show you something. Please come with me."

He turned and started walking towards the east. Sonja followed.

"Where are your dogs?"

"I have left them kennelled. They will pine, but they would be a distraction today."

"A distraction from what?"

"You shall see."

They walked in silence. The country they passed through was arid scrubland; though after two hours or so it started to become greener, and a wood became visible in the distance. Another hour; and they were walking through the trees. Still neither said a word.

After another league or so, Sonja caught her breath. From a tree ahead of her, a man was hanging. His wrists were firmly lashed to a low branch; his feet dangling at the level of her waist. He'd been severely beaten, but was alive.

Bar, however, ignored him, gesturing instead to the terrain beyond.

"This is Nyla's river. I named it. It's not much of a river at the moment, as you can see. It has taken to drying up in the summer; I know not why. Nevertheless, it is dear to me."

"Is that why you give people a good view of it?"

Bar turned, and seemed to notice the man in the tree for the first time. "Ah; this is Malik. You've met before."

"I don't remember him. Was he at the inn two nights ago?"

"He was – where he used a stool in a most unfortunate manner. Unfortunate for him."

"I see."

"I promised you retribution, did I not? Now you shall see that I'm a man of my word."

For the first time, Sonja noticed a dark green blanket at the foot of the tree. Bar reached under it and pulled out a small crossbow and bundle of quarrels. He loaded the bow and stood in front of the man Malik. He raised his arm.

Malik saw, and began to jerk uselessly, like a marionette. His swollen lips tried to form some words. "No, Lord…" he moaned.

Bar pulled the trigger, and a steel-headed bolt buried itself in Malik's thigh. He screamed.

Calmly, Bar reloaded. "I am Bar," he told Malik. "I rule here. My word is the law and the whole of the law. You have displeased me." Here he shot a second bolt into Malik's shoulder. "You took it upon yourself to interfere in an affair of mine. For that you must pay a penalty; and there is only one penalty I recognise. Pain."

He loaded a third bolt into the crossbow. Malik was reduced to a stream of whimpering sobs. Bar took aim again.

"May I?" Sonja asked.

Bar looked surprised. "What? Yes, of course. Your pardon, that was remiss of me. He did injury against you; you have the right to return the favour." He handed the crossbow to Sonja with a slight bow, then courteously stood aside.

Sonja aimed and loosed. The bolt thudded into Malik's heart. He twitched once, then the life passed from him.

"Strange," Bar said. "A single shot satisfies you?"

"I take no pleasure in unnecessary suffering."

"Surely you are not squeamish? No, you killed Ganak without hesitation."

"With one blow. Malik wronged me, but the debt is now paid; in full measure and with advantage. What now?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You could've strung Malik up anywhere; but you brought me here. Also, that blanket conceals I know not what else."

"You are perceptive." Bar reached under the blanket again, this time producing the sword he'd used earlier.

"Does your head still trouble you?"

"No."

"Good. Are you in need of food, drink, rest?"

"Again, no. Why are you so concerned?"

"Look under the blanket."

Sonja did so. Underneath was her own sword. She buckled it round her waist.

"So;" Bar told her. "You are in fighting fettle. As am I. Which means," he continued, drawing his blade and casting the scabbard aside, "that this will be a fair fight."

"I see."

"Indeed. It is time I fulfilled the terms of your oath."


	7. Six - Sonja's odd lack of ruthlessness

**BAR **

**Chapter Six **

With a sigh, Sonja drew her own weapon. "Are you sure you want to die?"

"Are you?"

"Don't be a fool, Bar. I don't know how many men have tried to fulfil the terms of my oath, as you put it; but they're all fattening worms."

"So, you're undefeated?"

"Yes," she said.

"As am I; which you should know already."

"How so?"

"Because I stand and breathe, like you. If you want to know what it's like to taste defeat, talk to the dead."

"One of us may do so very soon."

"It's possible. Do you fear?"

"No!"

"Then why the concern?"

"I do not – know. Strange; I do not usually offer warnings. Defend yourself!"

Like a wild beast, Sonja sprang. Her blade was like a living force, carving silver patterns through the air as she cut and slashed and thrust. But Bar was equal to her every move. His sword did not gleam as brightly as hers, but its battle-song was as sweet.

The two opponents drew apart to catch their breath. "Come on, you spawn of a lizard; fight!"

"I am fighting."

"No, you're not. You think I don't know the difference? You're blocking my blows, but are attempting none of your own."

"Patience."

"I told you; patience was never my strong point."

"In that case…"

Bar raised his blade and began to rain down blows upon the red-haired maiden who stood before him.

It was Sonja's turn to fend off death. Though her Goddess had gifted her great strength of arm, she was still a woman; and she had from time to time had to fight men more powerful than herself. Not that this usually caused her any great concern. She knew that she had to deflect their blows rather than block them; but this was merely a matter of skill; and skill she had in abundance. It was, she knew, simply a matter of time. Sooner or later there would be an opportunity for a riposte – a swift counterstroke – and then it would be done. Besides, she had another advantage. Bar knew about her oath.

This was the reason she often mentioned it in her travels. Like so many of her opponents, Bar did not actually want her dead. Wounded, perhaps. On her knees and begging for mercy, assuredly. But not dead. That would spoil everything. And so, whether he knew it or no, he would hold something back. Yes, sooner or later, he'd leave an opening. Eventually. Hopefully.

They fought. They fought until the noise of clashing steel drove the birds from the trees. They fought until their chests heaved and their bodies ran with sweat. They fought; they fought.

A particularly powerful blow from Bar sent Sonja staggering back two or three paces, but Bar did not follow her. Instead he wiped a hand over his face and drew in several huge lungfuls of air.

"Why, do you fight so hard?" he panted. "You don't want to win."

"I certainly have no desire to lose."

"No? You say that life is a curse; your oath a burden. Why do you defend them both so savagely?"

"Because I am Red Sonja!"

"Indeed you are. And I am Bar."

"Then let us continue."

Again they set to. The fury was as great as it had been before; but the pace was slower. It had to be; they were both tiring. Who would tire faster?

Then at last an opening. Bar swung a fraction wide, so that Sonja was able to flick the point of her sword at his face. He jerked his head aside, but in so doing, he took his eyes off her. Half a pace forward, and Sonja kicked out viciously. Her boot smacked into the inside of Bar's thigh. He staggered; off balance. She swung again. He blocked desperately, but as he did so she was able to step inside his reach and shoulder-charge him, driving her steel epaulette into his ribcage. He was down!

She stamped down on his sword and drove the point of her own weapon down at his unprotected throat. He rolled aside in time, but in so doing had to relinquish his blade. Victory!

But – not yet! He was scrabbling away; reaching for….the crossbow! She chased after him. He reached the bow, grabbed it, turned to face her. Another kick sent it spinning out of his hand – and then was he truly at her mercy.

A tableau. A straw-headed and empty-handed man on his knees; a tall, flame-haired woman standing over him, arm raised to strike. Both panting for breath, but otherwise motionless.

Slowly, Sonja lowered her blade. "Get up."

"Strike!"

"No."

"Why not? I have not asked for mercy; I do not want it. Strike!"

"This is not mercy."

"What then?"

"Payment of a debt."

"Debt?" Bar asked, "What debt?"

"You could've gutted me when that fool Malik hit me with a stool. You did not."

"That was for my benefit, not yours."

"How so?"

"Had I gutted you when your wits were fled, the victory would've been Malik's, not mine. That I could never allow."

"You could've done worse than gut me."

Bar scratched at his beard, removing the last traces of the combing it had had the night before. "Aye, I could. But I told you; I don't want to take you – I want to win you fair and square."

"Which you have just failed to do."

"So it seems. Therefore strike!"

"I do not choose to do so. You have tasted defeat, but the worms will have to wait yet a while before they savour your flesh. Get up."

"I cannot."

"Don't be a fool. In the tavern, under the eyes of those you seek to rule, I understood; but why such stubbornness here?"

"How shall my rule fare when it becomes known that I have been bested?"

"Then do not let it be known. Say that you slew the red-hair. I shall not return to call you a liar."

"My heart may be black; but it is not so black as to tell such an untruth."

"Who shall know?"

"Myself."

Sonja let out a long breath. "Then it seems that there is only one thing to be done. Pick up your sword."


	8. Seven - Sonja's concentration wanders

**BAR **

**Chapter Seven**

Bar rose to his feet. Sonja stepped out of his way and walked over to a clear patch of ground, where she assumed a fighting stance.

"Wait," Bar told her.

From the foot of the tree where Malik's lifeless body still hung, Bar produced a waterskin. He unstoppered it, took a long draught, then poured more water over his head. He shook himself like a dog. Then he replaced the bung, and tossed the skin to Sonja, who caught it casually.

"Half-full," she observed, drily.

"A fair fight, remember. Drink, and lets have done."

Sonja drained the skin, spitting the last mouthful into her cupped hands and washing the sweat from her face and neck. Then she hefted her sword again. "It's still not too late," she said.

"For one of us it is."

Swords clashed again and the sound of steel echoed through the woods.

They were still evenly matched; though this time they were more wary of each other. There was much circling and feinting as each tried to draw a mistake from the other.

Sonja wondered when she'd last fought an opponent who'd given her so much trouble. There had been some who had given her pause, to be sure. There had been fights where she'd lost flagons of blood, and from which she'd crawled away more dead than alive. But Bar was somehow different.

A thought began to form in her mind. She pushed it away, but it was persistent. Perhaps – she dropped to one knee as she parried a blow; then rolled away, coming up on her feet in time to swat away Bar's next thrust. Perhaps her Goddess _was_ guiding her. Perhaps she _had_ been brought to this desolate spot.

Which meant that Bar…. no, surely not. The Goddess couldn't have had anyone particular in mind. If she had, why wait so long before introducing him? Aha – a slow parry by Bar; a quick circle with the point then thrust, and _first blood!_ At last – no! He twisted away at the very last. His reactions were fast for a man his size, but she'd have him yet.

Unless… Suppose she slipped or missed her footing. No, she couldn't. Ah; but _suppose…_

A back-hand swipe from Bar. She spun round, light on her feet; but there was his blade, steadfast in defence. There was a look in his eyes. He was tiring. Yes, but so was she. Soon; one way or the other.

No, she didn't pray to the Goddess. Was that the reason she had never reappeared? Because Sonja did not honour her with prayer; did not thank her for every day of her solitary existence? Because Sonja did not _serve_ her? But why serve the Gods anyway? They despise mortals. Lunge, recover, circle to the left. One thing was certain - the Goddess hadn't made her immortal. Was she was destined to wander the earth until her crimson tresses faded to white? Unthinkable. So defeat was waiting for her, and she would meet it one day. And what then? Would her body lie in a mean and unmarked grave? Or a man's bed? Which fate was worse?

Parry. Give ground two paces to absorb the force of the blow; disengage and swing; low this time – aim for the knees.

Knees. That tableau – consider how it might have been reversed; she disarmed and on her knees, he standing over her, bathed in the warm glow of victory. What then?

"The day is mine, Red Sonja!"

Sonja heard Bar's scream of triumph before she realised the cause. One of Bar's blows had knocked the sword clean out of her hand. She turned her head a fraction and saw it, turning end over end with treacly slowness as it flew through the air; glinting as it caught the late afternoon sun. Impossibly far it seemed to fly, before coming down point first in the mud of the river where it stuck fast, as upright as a grave marker.

Sonja cursed herself. Stupid, stupid. Too many thoughts, not enough attention to more important matters. Her hand flew to her thigh. There was no dagger there – Bar had not returned it.

So this was the end. She drew herself up to her full height, chin held proud, arms folded across her chest; and waited.

Bar lowered his sword. Neither spoke for long moments. Their eyes met, fiercely. Sonja couldn't quite read Bar's expression. She'd expected him to gloat, but he seemed almost - cunning. Sonja was puzzled. What need had he of cunning now?

"So," he said at last, "I win."

"You have the advantage, certainly."

"Do you yield?"

"No." Sonja's voice was level and calm.

"No? What do you mean?"

"I mean no."

"Gods' teeth!" Bar raged. "Can't you accept that you've finally met your match?"

"It seems that I can't."

"I could slice you in two this second."

"Then do so."

"I can't. Curse you, but you know I can't"

"Do I?"

"Thunder and brimstone!" Bar's voice rose to a scream of frustration. "What manner of woman are you?"

"I am Red Sonja."

"To the seven hells with you, then." Bar raised his sword high. Sonja didn't even bother to look at it. Bar lowered it again.

"It seems that there's only one choice left," he said, finally.

"And what is that?"

"You must fetch your sword."

"Is this mercy?"

"No; it is a debt repaid."

Sonja gave a thin smile at the irony.

"Very well. But this is the last; from now on you and I shall be in deadly earnest. No quarter. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Good. Then I shall fetch my sword."

With these words, Sonja turned and stepped onto the sticky surface of Nyla's river.


	9. Eight - Sonja gets a sinking feeling

**BAR **

**Chapter Eight**

The distance from the bank of the river to Sonja's sword, where it stood hilt-uppermost, was eight paces. Sonja managed four of these; but when her heel came down for the fifth time, the mud seemed to melt away beneath her boot and she plunged knee-deep into it. Unbalanced, she pitched forward, putting her arms out in front of her to cushion her fall. They too vanished into the muck, almost to the top of her gauntlets.

Cursing, Red Sonja pulled her hands free and got her legs under herself; but the mud was mere liquid silt, and by the time she was upright it was up to her thighs, and rising. So; this was why Bar had looked cunning. She tried to turn round to face him, but couldn't. Instead, she sank a little deeper.

"Quicksand," she said evenly. "A mean trick."

"I've played meaner."

"No doubt." Sonja remained with her back to Bar, not turning her head. "And is this how you disposed of Nyla?"

"That was by chance; but yes, she lies below, hereabouts. There have been others since. She does not deserve to lie alone."

"And now I am to join the throng, I suppose." Sonja was working her legs, trying to break the grip of the mud. It was strong; she was trapped like a fly in amber. Her hips slid slowly below the surface.

"No. Not if you see sense."

"Sense?" Sonja asked, though she knew full well what Bar meant.

"Aye, sense. Your predicament gives you time to reflect. Not much time, but enough. You are sinking to your doom. There is none to aid you, save I – and I will do so, if you will only see reason. I have defeated you; the time of your oath has come to an end."

Sonja's head jerked round, her tone suddenly furious. "I have _not_ been defeated. None can boast that they have defeated Red Sonja until they hear it from my own lips, or I breathe no more."

"By the Gods, woman. You're up to your waist already – and that armour will drag you down."

"It's not so heavy."

"In Nyla's river it doesn't have to be. Quick now; your only choices are me or death."

"Then it shall be death; I shall remain Red Sonja to the end."

Something seemed to snap inside Bar. He gave a great bellow of rage, hurled his sword aside, and strode towards Sonja.

"Then die. Sink to your death and be quick about it. See – let me help you on your way." He reached Sonja, put his great hands on her shoulders and began to push her deeper into the ooze.

"I cannot think what came over me," Bar raged. "I could've taken you, but I did not. I could have spitted you and left your entrails hanging from a tree, but I did not. No, I honoured you, and you offered insolence in return. I bit my tongue, and still you defied me. Well, I bite my tongue no more. You are an ungrateful woman, Red Sonja. I offered you the hand of friendship – of friendship and more than friendship. And what did you do? You refused. You did worse than refuse - you slapped my hand away and spat in my eye. I have never been treated so! I _will_ never be treated so! Not by anyone, man or woman, save that they die by my hand. Die, Red Sonja, die!"

Sonja struggled. She kicked her legs furiously in the horrible ooze, but they could find no purchase. She twisted her body to and fro, trying to shake loose his grip, but she could not. Bar was behind her and above her; and he was both heavier than her, and stronger.

Deeper she sank. Her ribs vanished from sight and then her chest, the mud seeping with insolent slowness between the scales of her armour. Still she struggled, and kicked, and fought. She stretched for the knife that was in her boot, but it was beyond her reach. She tried to prise Bar's fingers away from her; to no avail. She raised a hand to claw at his face, but he avoided her clutch with ease. She drove her elbows into him; but the angle was all wrong and her blows had all the force of pastry.

Lower she sank, and still Bar cursed her. "Die, Red Sonja! Take your last breath and hold it til your lungs explode. Then go down and grovel before Nyla; tell her that I send you as a worthless offering – a plaything to do with as she will in whatever realm she now inhabits."

Sonja's mouth was dry, and her heart was like a siege-ram against her ribs. So this was her doom; a choking death in the stinking mud of an unknown river. Was this the destiny the Goddess had intended for her? No, how could it be? Which meant that she _had_ no destiny – and that she'd kept her oath so long to no purpose.

Bar had almost forced her under now. Her tomb closed over her shoulders. Still she struggled. She did not fear death; indeed, now that she saw that her Goddess had been a mere phantom, oblivion was what she greatly desired – though she would've preferred a cleaner ending. Nevertheless, some stubborn streak within her insisted that she battle to the last.

She groped around under the mud. Every man has a vulnerable spot – but she could not reach up high enough behind her own back. The mud flowed upwards to cover her chin.

Then her hand brushed against something. A rock, suspended by some chance in a denser layer of the river-bed. She grabbed at it. It was large, and she feared she would be unable to grasp it firmly; but it was irregular in form; and there was a convenient indentation into which her thumb fitted well enough to give her a secure grip. With an effort, she dragged it upwards until it was just below the surface.

One chance. She tilted her head back and looked up at Bar. His face was directly over hers. There was madness in his eyes. The mud rose over her cheekbones.

"Bar - " she gasped. He didn't seem to hear her. There was spittle dropping from his mouth as he poured wordless curses on her.

"Bar!"

The downward pressure stopped, though Bar didn't relax his hold. The wild light in his eyes dimmed a fraction.

"Bar – I…"

"Die, Red So… What? Last words? Speak louder, woman."

"Bar – I'm…"

"Louder I said." Instinctively, Bar bent his head, the better to catch Sonja's words.

With all the strength she still had, she struck at him with the rock.


	10. Nine - Sonja - but that would be telling

**BAR **

**Chapter Nine**

There was a hollow thud. Her effort caused the mud to close over her and she experienced a moment of blazing terror as she thrashed panic-stricken in the darkness – but then her fingers fastened in Bar's jerkin and she hauled herself upwards.

When her head broke surface she could see that she'd stunned Bar; he was staring at her in blank incomprehension. Even so, she was taking no chances. She raised the rock again and brought it down on his temple with a crack. Then she cast it aside.

Knowing that she had to move quickly, she began to climb up Bar's body. It was hard, sticky work, and she was already exhausted. Nevertheless, she made steady progress, raising herself inch by inch out of the mire, and sinking Bar slowly into it.

As she pulled her chest free, Bar began to show signs of life. He began to babble incoherently and jerk his arms about. Sweet Mithra; if his wits were unjumbling themselves already, his skull must be thick indeed.

She hauled herself a little higher; then brought up her feet and pushed against Bar's chest. She was now almost horizontal in the mud, and could feel that she had just enough buoyancy. Grabbing her sword on the way, she half swam, half crawled to the far back, where she rolled onto her back and lay panting for a long time.

Eventually, she sat up with a jerk and looked for Bar. He was mired to his armpits, with his arms resting on the surface; but he was not struggling at all. Nor was he even looking at her; his gaze was directed instead on the rock she had used on him.

Suddenly, and with a spasm of horror, she saw that it wasn't a rock at all. It was a skull; a human skull. The place into which her thumb had fitted so neatly had been one of its eye sockets. Strangely white despite its time in the mud, it lay upright, facing Bar. He stared at it.

"Bar!" Sonja called. He didn't respond.

Sonja leapt to her feet and hacked at a nearby tree until she'd cut a branch about eight feet long and as thick as her wrist. Then she wormed her way on her stomach as far onto the mud as she dared, and held out the branch to Bar.

"Here – grab hold."

Bar slowly turned his head to look at her. There was still confusion in his eyes. He was sinking slowly as Sonja watched.

"Quick – grab the branch."

"Why?" Bar seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Because you'll drown otherwise. Take hold!"

Bar made no move. Instead he blinked several times rapidly. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to have regained its old certainty.

"No."

"What?"

"No. You spurned my mercy; now I spurn yours."

"Don't be a fool."

"A fool, am I? Like you?"

"That was different."

"How so? Our places are reversed, but I see no difference. Save one. I own that you have defeated me. There; that was hard for me to say, but I managed it." Bar sank to his neck, though he showed no sign of alarm.

"If you say so. I win, you lose. Possibly the Gods arranged it this way. Now grab hold and I'll get you out of there."

"No. We said no quarter, remember?"

"You haven't asked for quarter. You're a brave man, Bar – a fine one in your way. I even like you. I don't want to see you die."

"You could've been my woman."

"I told you why I couldn't."

"Yet you like me?"

"Yes."

"And would show me mercy?"

"If that's how you see it."

"I spit on your mercy." The mud lapped at Bar's jaw.

"Bar; in the name of the Gods. Look, you can come with me if you like. We can journey together; share adventures; fight side by side."

"Is that what you want, Red Sonja?"

"Yes. Hurry, Bar; you don't have much time!"

"So; we know what you want. But let me ask you something different. What are you prepared to _give?_"

"I -" Sonja choked into silence.

"You have no answer. I thought not." Bar turned his attention back to the skull which still lay on the surface of the mud. He stared at it intensely.

"Nyla -" he said. He reached out a hand towards the skull and touched it gently, almost as if caressing it. "Nyla – forgive me. I could not control my nature. Forgive me, Nyla. See – I come to you; open your realm to me." Then, with his eyes still fixed on the skull, Bar disappeared.

Sluggish ripples spread out from the spot where he had been. They reached the skull. It seemed to bob on the surface for a while, then it too sank, following Bar into the depths.

With a heavy heart, Sonja crawled back to the bank and got to her feet. She let the branch fall.

"Oh, Bar," she said. "If only you had been less stubborn." She paused. "Or I had."

Then she turned her back on Nyla's river, and walked away. Alone.


End file.
